Cracked To The Past
by Return Of The Nightmare
Summary: A 24 year-old DADA teacher, Harry Potter, who went slightly mad from the stress of the war, is chucked back to his parents' 7th year during a duel with a jealous wannabe-Harry Potter. Needless to say, the year is going to be interesting for the people who actually belong in this time. Rated M just in case.
1. Chapter 1

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore smiled at his students as he sat back down in his chair. He'd just finished the usual brief words he uses at the beginning of the Start of Term Feast, and the students were now all helping themselves to various foods and drinks; a sight he never tired of. He had no doubt that every few years there would be a student who was starved half to death by their parents during the summer, and although the thought saddened him, there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

People were blind, you see. The most horrific of things can occur before their very eyes and they would never even notice it. Of course, there were the odd few who would, but most were oblivious to the fact that bullying and child abuse exist. Why, even he had not noticed how badly Sirius Black's parents treated him. Thankfully, though, the boy had managed to run away a while back, and was now living with his best friend, James Potter during the summers. And Albus was glad for him.

But he couldn't convince the Ministry to do anything about it to make it official. They were so dumb that they thought young Sirius was bluffing, harming himself for attention. All because his parents were of an Ancient and Noble House. So the Ministry knew nothing of Sirius' living with the Potters, simply believing that he spent a lot of time with them, and the other Blacks just didn't care.

Albus truly wanted to help any of his students who had to put up with abuse from their peers or guardians, but it wasn't an easy thing to do. Abused children tend to either not realise what their parents are doing is wrong, or simply feel so ashamed about it that they never bring it up with anyone. Sirius had been an example of the latter case.

He sighed as he sipped from a goblet of pumpkin juice. He would never be able to help all of his students with these cases, he knew, but that didn't mean he liked it. The very thought of one of the faces before him utterly defenceless against those who wish to cause them harm angered him.

'_And whilst we're on the subject of defending ourselves,_' Albus thought bitterly, '_If someone doesn't turn up for that Defence post by the end of the day, I'll have to owl for someone hired by the Ministry._'

The only reason he hadn't owled them yet was because there were those rare but delightful occasions when an applicant to the job burst into the Great Hall during the Feast, or his Office just as he finished writing the letter. A late but good applicant was far better than a Ministry worker in his opinion. They'd had one of those last year, and the middle-aged man had barely knew what he was yapping on about himself.

Hearing a groan from beside him, Albus turned to face his Deputy Head, Minerva McGonagall, with a raised eyebrow. As soon as she noticed him, the witch gave a tired smile. "I was just imagining what sort of nonsense we may end up with for a DADA teacher this year, even if someone does show up," she nodded towards Hagrid. "We don't need another incident like 1974."

Albus chuckled. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in that year had been a nightmare. She'd been knowledgeable in the subject like few others, but it seemed that her twitching paranoia of potatoes had bit her in the back when she started screaming "The potato King! The potato King! Merlin have mercy on our souls!" while hexing Hagrid to oblivion. Hagrid, upset at being mistaken for a royal potato, had snapped her wand arm just to get her to stop firing spells at him. Needless to say, glares were exchanged on a regular basis after that incident.

"Indeed, Minerva. Although I must say I'm glad we don't have a Divination teacher obsessed with predicting a certain student's early and gruesome death yet." Albus mused, vaguely noticing that the pepper on his chicken leg was patterned like a man in a turban.

Minerva snorted. "I daresay we will have one of those eventually."

"You know," the squeaky voice of Filius Flitwick came from beside Minerva, "I sometimes wonder if we'll get a madman for the DADA post. After all, aurors have been known to go a little barmy from paranoia or over-exposure to the cruciatus every now and then."

Albus nodded, frowning slightly. "You make a good point, Filius. The Ministry would probably see any sign of madness as a weakness in an auror," he sighed, then turned to smile at him. "But do tell me, Filius. What sort of madness you were referring to?"

"Well-"

Albus never got to hear Filius' views on madmen, however, as his words were quickly drowned out by a loud bang and a triumphant yell. A young man had suddenly appeared in the middle of the Great Hall, wand drawn, with a mad grin on his face.

As if searching for something, the man turned his face quickly in various directions, his long messy black hair swishing all over the place. "Dude, where the hell did you go?" he yelled, scanning the room. "Chickened out at last? Finally realised how much of a ponce you are, yeh git?"

The man shrugged, as if to say 'Oh well, whatever,' and turned to grin at Albus. "Hey, Dumblydoor! Whatcha doing over there? Does this mean I'm dead?" his gaze turned to McGonagall. "Minnie! When did you die? Did the ponce get you too?" he stared at McGonagall for a little longer before a look of horror crossed his face. "Oh bum! I went out like a light. I didn't even notice! God, that's not the way I wanted to go, I wanted to go through the cruciatus a few more times, bleed a bit, and…"

The man whined on for a few more minutes about how he would have liked to die before Albus remembered what he really should be doing. "Excuse me," he called out, grabbing the attention of everyone in the Hall except for the still complaining man who thought he was dead. After a few more fruitless attempts, he yelled "YOU'RE NOT DEAD."

The man spun to face him, an unreadable expression on his face. "THEN WHAT AM IIIIIIIIIIII?" he bellowed in what could only be described as a failed attempt at sounding like a monster.

"Well, if you'll come to my office with me, we can figure that out." Albus smiled, moving towards the exit and gesturing for the man to follow. The man hummed an affirmative, walking with an odd spring to his step out of the Hall.

As the crazy duo left the Hall, Minerva turned to Filius. "I think you may be a seer, Filius."


	2. Flashbacks and Headaches

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore gestured for the interesting newcomer to take a seat in his office. "Lemon drop?" he inquired, holding the dish towards the man.

"No thanks, I just calmed down." The messy haired man replied. Indeed, he did look a lot calmer than when he just randomly appeared out of thin air a mere ten minutes ago. His movements were no longer jerky and excitable, but slow, relaxed, and… distant. He was gazing dreamily about his office.

Setting the tray back down, Albus leaned his head on his hands and examined the newcomer. There was something very familiar about that long, messy black hair, that amused mouth, and those bright green eyes. "Do I know you?"

Bright-eyes' gaze drifted to Albus, but it was obvious he wasn't paying much attention to him. His eyes were still unfocused. "Well, you did last time I looked," he stated, and his eyes came into focus a little. He cocked his head to the left slightly. "Then again, the last time I met you, your hand was dead."

Albus quickly looked down at his hands. Ten fingers; check. No broken bones; check. No strange blemishes; che- well, there's of course the little odds and ends that come with old age, but who cares about that? He looked back up. "Are they dead now?"

"Nah, they're normal."

He smiled. "Good," he leaned forwards again, examining the man, who, in return, seemed to be examining him with only half-focused eyes. "Might I inquire your name?"

"You may," Bright-eyes said, staring at his nose.

"What is your name?"

Bright-eyes grinned. "Harry,"

Albus smiled at Harry, who had returned to dreamily gazing at his office. "Hello, Harry. I assume you know who I am?"

"Yup, you're old Albus Too-Many-Names Dumbledore,"

Albus nodded, chuckling. "Yes, I must agree that my mother went a little overboard on the whole naming process," he leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, Harry – that is, if you don't mind answering – how did you come to suddenly appear in the Great Hall? No one can apparate or disapparate on Hogwarts grounds."

Harry smiled at Dumbledore – or the mantelpiece behind him, who knows? "Well, it's quite simple if you think about it."

So, Albus thought about it. However, since Harry never specified how long to think about it, or what direction to think about it in, his mere two seconds of thinking were worthless. Lazy bugger. "Go on,"

"Well, I was already there, wasn't I?"

Albus tilted his head to the side a bit. "How would that work, though? You appeared to be duelling someone-"

"THAT GIT!" Harry roared, "She's got something to do with this, hasn't she? Used some spell on me to make me go completely mad so she could get my job or some rubbish!"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but what are you talking about? What were you doing when you first arrived here?"

"Well, you see…"

-_Flashback time!—_

_Harry James Potter, Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher and Gryffindor Head of House of five years, was sitting back in his chair next to Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. It was the Start-of-Term Feast, and he was currently waiting for his boss to end it all so he could finally retire to his quarters to make various weird noises that the rest of the faculty didn't dare question. Of course, he'd have to go talk to the First Years in the Common Room first, but after that he would be a free man! For the rest of the evening, but… you know._

_To entertain himself, he was using wandless magic to transfigure his cutlery into small moving replicas of the four original Marauders, his mother (who, to be fair, was a Marauder in her own right), and Nymphadora Tonks. He made them so that while Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, Lily and Tonks would torture Wormtail with mouse traps, the bloody little rat would be completely helpless aside from quietly screaming and yelling things along the lines of "I'm a filthy murderer! Rip my nuts off!", "I'm an untrustworthy git! Please, tear my teeth out!", and "I made people's lives a living hell! Please, eat me alive!"_

_Of course, only the teachers nearest to him could hear – such as Minerva and Filius on his left, and Horace and Sybil on his right – but none of them had complained, even though he did this at every feast. For they understood (well, Sybil just liked the screams); Peter Pettigrew had ruined his and many others' lives._

_He had betrayed his parents to Voldemort, and then framed Sirius for it. Sirius had been sent to Azkaban for twelve years, Remus had believed all his friends dead or a traitor, Lily and James were dead, and Harry had been sent to live with his abusive relatives. _

_But oh no, the bastard didn't stop there. Once Sirius had escaped, the rat fled, leaving Sirius with no proof that he's innocent the foolish then-Minister would take. Sirius had spent the last few years of his life on the run or locked up in his childhood nightmare. And he didn't even stop there!_

_He was responsible for Voldemort's return. Of course, he had to be brought back to be killed – probably – but that wasn't the point! He caused millions of people to suffer._

_And guess what? He didn't stop there, either! The idiot ran off as soon as he realised Voldemort was losing, and no one saw him for months afterwards. But his final action that brought him out of hiding was what made Harry realise just who he hated the most._

_Wormtail's final deed; the murder of Teddy Lupin._

_Gorgeous Teddy. His Teddy. His lovely, beautiful godson with his soft blue tufts of hair. His parents had died for nothing-_

_-Flashback interrupted!-_

"Harry, you're ranting."

Harry sniffed. "Sorry. I just get emotional is all.

-_Back to work-_

_And so that was why Harry Potter now hated Wormtail more than anyone else. The rodent had taken his last reason to exist._

_But now, Wormtail was out of his reach. He had been killed as soon as Andromeda had seen him, moments after he had uttered the curse that had rendered poor little Teddy dead. So Harry had to make do with transfiguring things into him to torture him. It was the one time he enjoyed seeing a person scream._

_Minerva put a comforting hand on his shoulder, indicating playtime was over. He transfigured the mini-people back into knives, forks and spoons, and smiled sadly up at her. Minerva understood; she had known most of the victims personally._

_Harry stared into space and silently whistled during Minerva's speech. It was the same stuff every year, anyway; don't go to the forest because it's all dark and scary and dangerous and Harry met old snake-face there once, the curfew is at this time, so don't go snogging in broom cupboards because Professor Potter has a way of finding you at the most embarrassing moments, Filch has banned everything fun that's had the balls to shove itself in his face… You know, one day, something interesting might just happen._

_He jinxed it._

_Right at that moment, a tall old bat of a woman burst into the Great Hall. "I wish to apply for the Defence job."_

_Minerva, still standing, looked coldly down at the intruder. "We already have a Defence teacher, thank you very much. Professor Potter is quite satisfactory."_

_Harry felt both complimented and insulted. Satisfactory?!_

_The intruder sniffed pompously. "My name is Queanie Umbridge, and I am here for the Defence position."_

_"Any relation to Dolores Umbridge, by any chance?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow._

_"She is my sister," Umbridge announced. "Who, by the way, did not deserve to go to Azkaban."_

_Harry raised an eyebrow at this one. "She's your _sister_? Seriously?" he shook his head in mock bewilderment. "You're old enough to be her grandmother."_

_Unfortunately, none of the students had been around during the younger Umbridge's reign of chaos. If they had, they would be glaring at the woman by now. And giggling at Harry's comments._

_Queanie puffed her chest. "My age is none of your concern, boy. You look to be in your late thirties."_

_"Enough," Minerva huffed. "Either you can get out on your own or you will be forced out of the building. I will not have Death Eater supporters on my staff, especially when they go around insulting the person already in position who just so happens to be far more qualified and more than satisfactory. Just ask any of the students; Harry Potter is fair on them and has given us the best DADA results in decades!"_

_"I must insist, Minerva," Umbridge smiled sweetly in the same way her sister did. "After all, I actually have a NEWT in the subject. Our dear Mr Potter wasn't even here for his final year of education."_

_Harry rolled his eyes. "Woman, I killed a freaking Dark Lord. I'm the most powerful wizard since Dumbledore. I've got enough experience in the field to not need bloody NEWTS."_

_"And yet you were not allowed to train to be an auror," she said, still smiling that sickly sweet smile. It seemed somewhat out of place on the old, weedy face. "One would think that someone with so much experience would be one of the best in their ranks by now, would they not?"_

_"Hey, it isn't my fault people are afraid of everything that's different!"_

_Filius decided to pipe up here. "You're quite lucky, you know, Queanie. This is one of his sane moments. You usually only see him like that in classe-"_

_"A duel, Harry Potter," Umbridge announced. "I shall prove to everyone that you are unfit for the position, and that all these wild tales you have been spinning have been nothing but lies. You did not kill the Dark Lord. I did. You took the credit."_

_Everyone was staring at her in disbelief by now. Hundreds of people had witnessed Harry's defeat of Voldemort. Heck, Death Eaters had admitted it under the effects of veritaserum. This woman was madder than their teacher!_

_Harry, on the other hand, was slipping back into madness, and was stifling laughter. The longer he stared at her and the longer the silence dragged on, however, the harder it became, and before long his laughter filled the Great Hall._

_Queanie wasn't happy. "What, Mr Potter, is so funny?"_

_"You!" Harry yelled, still laughing. Even Sybil could tell that he had succumbed to his madness again. And that was when he was the most dangerous, because he became unpredictable. _

_The intruder was now purple in the face. "Come here! Duel! Now! Repent your sins, murderer!"_

_Harry, still laughing - although not as much - swung over the Head Table and walked over to face her. "If I remember correctly, it's your sister who threatened me with the cruciatus curse, not the other way around."_

_Not many students gasped; Harry had a habit of going over his many adventures when teaching his students. This had come up at least once. The staff members who had been there at the time didn't either, although this was news to them. It simply wasn't surprising was all._

_-Interruptions are cool-_

"Harry, could you please get to the point?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. Sorry Alby, I got carried away there," he leaned back in his chair. "Basically; we duelled, I held back so I could embarrass her as much as possible whilst jumping on tables and doing little tap-dances every now and then, and then I'm guessing some other relative of the pink bat snuck in whilst I was distracted and shot a spell at me that sent me here. Crazy, really; I didn't even feel it."

Albus Dumbledore's eyebrows knitted together. "And since you didn't hear or see the incantation, we don't know what spell was used, leaving you stuck here until someone from your own time comes to rescue you."

"Indubitably," Harry nodded.

Albus couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be in quite a good mood at the moment for someone who's just been sent back in time against their will. He shook his head. Trauma caused the strangest of things.

He pushed these thoughts aside, however, and smiled broadly at the newcomer. "Well, you have convenient timing. You teach Defence, and I'm in need of a Defence teacher! I don't have to come up with an excuse to keep you here, now."

Harry smiled just as broadly. "I got my job back in the past!" he bellowed, outstretching his arms to the sides.

"I won't have to deal with Ministry riff-raff this year!" Albus bellowed back, doing the same with his arms. The two then adopted overly emotional expressions and flung themselves across the desk at each other to hug.

This caused an interesting series of events. Their thick skulls collided in mid-air, causing a loud **_THUNK_**and two painful **_OW_**s from the wizards. Harry then fell to the floor clutching his head, accidentally kicking the desk in the process. The desk got flung towards Albus, where it hit him in the crotch, causing an even louder **_YOW_** than the original **_OW_**s. Albus then fell backwards, his lower half trapped under his desk (why the hell isn't that magicked to the floor, anyway?), and his head collided with an old muggle lamp – don't ask. The lamp fell over, and its heavy metal pole landed heavily on the Headmaster's nose, effectively breaking it with yet another loud **_OW_**.

When Albus could finally see through the pain again, he realised that multiple open jars of ink had landed on his robes, coating it in their contents. He couldn't really move without causing further pain to his manly bits – as much use as they were nowadays – and his wand was out of reach, so he tried to call for Harry. The man in question, however, seemed to be lying on the floor where he fell, talking to himself about the pains of caring for people and 'what's the point in being mad when you still get hurt by your favourite people?'

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and owner of various other weird titles, sighed. This was going to take a while.


	3. White Hair and Glamourations

**A/N:** Before we begin, I would just like to respond to a kind reviewer (thanks for those, by the way. I wasn't expecting any. Those or favs)... No, I won't make this a Lily/Harry pairing. That's weird even by my standards. That, and I already have plans for our sweet little redhead. Well, a plan, but... just shut up.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore sighed in relief as he rubbed his face with his hands. They had finally fixed the office, Albus' privates were safe, and Harry wasn't muttering anymore. His robes didn't even stain! Suddenly cheerful, he plopped back into his fancy chair and smiled broadly at Harry. "So, would you like the job?"

"What job?"

"The Defence job."

Harry's eyebrows creased together. "I've already got a job."

"In the future, perhaps. But while you're here, you're unemployed." Albus pointed out.

Horror crossed the man's face. "Oh god, I'm unemployed! I'm almost as bad as Dudley!"

"Dudley?"

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Eh, just my whale of a cousin who sells drugs. Don't mind the pig."

Albus was curious as to what these drugs were. Perhaps he could lace his lemon drops with them? It would make a change from the usual veritaserum and cheering charms. But now wasn't the time, so he made a mental note to ask about drugs later on. "So, how about the Defence post?"

Harry pulled a thoughtful face, although Albus was pretty sure he wasn't thinking at all; his eyes were distant again. "Bah, what the hell. It gives me an alibi at least, and it's what I do anyway. I'll just have to learn more than just the first years' names is all."

Grinning, Albus practically jumped for joy in his seat. No Ministry riff-raff! Another madman to talk to! It was like Christmas had come early for the Supreme Mugwump. "Well then, before we head down to introduce you, will you need a disguise?"

"Well, it would be good idea to disillusion my scar away," Harry said, pointing at a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. "It's famous in the future, see. Other than that, probably not. I doubt anyone would make a connection between myself and my dad with my hair all long like this."

Albus nodded in supreme understanding, for his was the great Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot. "Are you going to disillusion your grey hairs away?"

"THEY'RE WHITE!" Harry bellowed. "And no, I won't. People respect older people, see."

"Forgive me for my mistake," Albus said, bowing his head slightly. It was true, though; they were definitely more white than grey. "But just out of curiosity, how old are you again?"

Harry blinked, and seemed to start thinking very hard. "Er… I think I'm twenty-four."

Albus stood up suddenly and extended his hand towards the unperturbed man. "Then I welcome you to your new – old – new… sort of new and old job."

Taking his hand, Harry grinned. "I look forward to working here before I was born, Alby."

Applying the glamour to hide his scar, the two practically skipped out of the office. Albus Dumbledore was smiling; perhaps if his students were exposed to madness a bit more frequently, they would embrace it. And then, who knows? Albus might have even more madmen and women to talk to.


	4. Introductions and Sheepishness

EDIT: Thank you for letting me know of my little mistake in calling Professor James Professor Potter down there. It has been fixed. I've been busy with A Chance To Live lately, but I am currently writing the next chapter for this... I just figured I should correct my mistake first. And also the mistake in the final word of the chapter I just noticed. Whoopsy. Typos.

* * *

James Potter, also known as Prongs, was, like many others, staring at the doors to the Great Hall in bewilderment. Some random guy, seemingly in the middle of a duel, had just ten minutes ago popped up out of nowhere. Even weirder was that as soon as he saw the Headmaster, he assumed he'd died.

Was this the new DADA professor? If so, he would certainly prove to be a lot more interesting than his predecessors. Last year, they'd had a droning Ministry worker who seemed to know more about Dementors than Defence (in other words next to fuck all). The year before that, their teacher had known what she was doing, but every time she saw something that even slightly resembled a potato she would start screaming blood murder whilst hexing said potato look-alike. Hagrid, for instance. She'd been interesting, but people were too weary of her to enjoy her lessons. If only someone had shown her how evil bats can be, maybe she would have hexed Snape into oblivion, and then-

"James?" Sirius asked from next to him, waving a hand in front of his face. "Mate, you're staring into space. Earth to, Prongs!"

Blinking in surprise, James realised that Dumbledore had returned with the weird man in his wake. Both were practically skipping, and the black haired of the two seemed to be singing 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' under his breath. His eyes were distant, looking up as though seeing things no one else could see. Maybe he could.

"Who do you suppose he is, Moony?" he whispered, leaning across the table.

Remus Lupin shrugged. "No idea. He seems mad, though. Hopefully not dangerous mad, but-"

"Buuuuut?" Sirius leaned further across the table, eyes glancing hungrily between the newcomer and his friend.

"I can't smell him from here, Padfoot," Remus rolled his eyes. "No, I was just going to say I don't get any hostile vibes off of him."

James chuckled as Sirius blushed slightly. Peter giggled once he saw James' amusement.

Remus' back straightened as Dumbledore's voice filled the hall. "I would like to introduce you to your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor… uh…" Dumbledore looked around sheepishly before leaning towards the long-haired professor. "Er, what's your surname again, Harry?"

'Harry' grinned. "Harry James Po-" he, too, looked around sheepishly. "Er, sorry Albus. Nearly called you Prof there. My surname's James."

Dumbledore grinned sheepishly at Harry James. "Ah yes, thank you," he straightened, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Yes, this his Professor James. He will be teaching you- well, you can all guess what he's teaching you. Anyway, yes, give him a round of applause!"

There was a moment of silence where Professor James grinned broadly at everyone in the Hall before everyone recovered from their shock and started clapping. He took this moment to perform some elaborate bows, saying "Thank you, thank you." This was all cut off, however, when Professor James looked towards the Marauders. For a moment, his grin seemed to broaden, until his eyes caught Peter cautiously clapping along with everyone else. The man's eyes were filled with rage. "TRAITOR!" he bellowed, drawing his wand as silence filled the Great Hall once more. "Andi lied! You're not dead at all! You ba-"

"Harry, calm down," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on the murderous looking teacher. He muttered something to him that none of the Marauders could hear before continuing at a normal volume. "I'm sure he just looks like him. Would you like some dinner?"

Professor James blinked before he looked blankly at the Headmaster. His gaze then moved to the empty space at the Head Table. His gaze moved back to Peter once more before he looked back at Dumbledore and nodded.

As dessert was served, the Marauders turned back to face each other. Grins slowly appeared on Sirius and James' faces and Remus merely appeared to be deep in thought while Peter was looking downright terrified. James was the first to speak up. "Merlin, we've got a Professor James! This is going to be fantastic!"


	5. Crazies and Mirrors

Harry James Potter was sitting between Pomona Sprout and an extremely paranoid woman he'd learned to be the Divination teacher, eating a large bowl of chocolate and butterbeer ice cream. Yes, he'd already had dessert when bloody Queanie arrived, but when did that ever stop him? He just vanished his old – or should that be new? – dessert from his stomach to make space. It was times like these that he loved magic.

The woman next to him, whose name he had no clue of as it seemed to change every five minutes, was currently stuttering in fear. Apparently, she'd seen the Grim not once, not twice, but seven times last year. As a firm believer of the mad art called Divination, she was telling him not to go anywhere unprotected or alone, lest Death catch him unawares.

Him? He just sat there, smiling, nodding, and adding a few positive responses every now and then. He told her that he would be very careful. And he was, indeed, careful. Ever since the war, he'd been as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody about pretty much everything. Yes, he was always calm and distant (well, not always distant), but that didn't mean he wasn't keeping an eye out for trouble. His clothes were enchanted, he was surrounded by all kinds of magical shields, he checked everything he touched or ate with wandless magic, and he'd even invested in contacts that worked like Mad-Eye's eye, only they were unable to see out of the back of his head and their magical properties could only reach a certain distance.

No one knew about them, of course. And those weren't all of his precautions, either. But needless to say, those contacts and the Marauders' Map were what made students avoid going out to snog in broom closets when he was on patrol after curfew.

But then it hit him, and his eyes widened in horror as a small whimper flew from his mouth, only reaching those next to him (and making old crazy rant on about how he'd seen Death). The Marauders' Map! His belongings! They were still in the future! Oh god, what was he to do? He had no access to his money, so buying more was out of the question. He was so preoccupied he didn't realise he'd carved a rubber duck shape into his ice cream when he dropped his spoon.

Pomona Sprout turned to look at him, wondering what on earth had happened to the new crazy addition to the staff. He looked as though he'd suddenly found out a close friend was dead, and she sincerely hoped the mad woman – no one was sure of her name really – hadn't told him she'd predicted someone's death. She didn't usually, but it was known to happen every few years.

Unnoticed by the new addition, she turned to Horace, who was having a jolly-old-man conversation with Dumbledore. Looks like they hadn't heard the clatter. Oh well.

Just then, a large trunk and a packed up broom appeared on the very spot Harry had arrived earlier. What appeared to be a mirror on top of the trunk was yelling out his name, and Harry, jolted out of his mental rantins (you can take 'mental' however you like), leaped over the Head Table and dashed to the mirror with a massive grin on his face. He shrunk the trunk and shoved it in a pocket before grabbing the broom and mirror. To the mirror, he yelled "Wait a sec," and to the Head Table he announced "Be back in a bit!"

The Hall watched in silence as he headed to the side chamber.

Inside the side chamber, Harry checked for unfriendly spells, performed a few dozen privacy wards, and then checked for unfriendliness again. After a few more double checks and performing a spell on the paintings that made them blind and deaf, he turned to face the mirror. "MINNIE!"

Minerva McGonagall of the future scowled. "Harry James Potter, you do realise I am your boss?"

"Not yet, you're not," he corrected. "You're my colleague at the moment."

Minnie sighed, knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere like this. "Yes, yes of course. I do remember you from back then, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes," Minerva groaned. "You accused me of being dead."

Harry grinned. "Well, I thought you were for a moment."

Minerva McGonagall shook her head as though to clear it. "Harry, we're going off track. I just wanted to tell you that we forced the spell used to send you back here out of the performer, and then altered the two-way mirrors to work through time differences before sending them to you," she tilted her head to the side. "Honestly, I don't know how the mirrors choose the time period, since technically it could contact you at any time within the next year, but oh well."

Harry nodded seriously. "Yes, I wondered the same thing with those modified mobile phones on Doctor Who."

"Doctor What?"

"Who."

Minerva blinked her confusion away. "Right. Well anyway, I'll send you the spell to get back towards the end of the year. I know for a fact that you stay for the whole year, Harry James Potter," she added when he pouted. "Just… try not to alter the time stream, okay? We don't need any paradoxes."

"Gotcha," Harry said, not sure whether to grin or glare.

"Good," Minerva said sternly with a glare on her face. Making up his decision, he glared back. "Well, I shall be off, then."

"Wait, Minnie-" Harry began, but Minnie was already gone. He pouted and pretended to start crying. "Fine don't tell me what happened to the ponce, then!"


End file.
